


This Town's Too Small to be Mean

by l_grace_b



Series: I Will Follow Where You Lead [2]
Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Gen, Gilmore Girls AU, nobody asked for this but here we are, stars hollow au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2020-07-29 01:23:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20073814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/l_grace_b/pseuds/l_grace_b
Summary: Being the town recluse has started to lose its charm.---Nicole's first fall in Ghost River





	1. Part 1

Nicole's phone buzzed on the wooden table beside her bed, rattling so fiercely it fell off, landing on the floor.

Since leaving Chicago, she ignored every text message and email and deleted every app that tethered her to life in the city.

It felt freeing and terrifying all at once.

_Buzz. Buzz._

Nicole groaned, reaching out from her covers--still just a sheet and a thick fleece blanket provided by her landlord--for her phone.

She squinted as she slid her thumb across the bright screen to open the new message.

_Hey. Hope you're doing okay. Hope you've been able to blow off some steam. Call me when you get a chance. Or text. Or send a carrier pigeon. Anything. Just…let me know you're alive? - S_

Nicole let her head drop back onto her pillow. Since leaving Chicago, she'd only answered two phone calls--one from her Chicago landlord, the other from the sender of this text message. Both were at the airport. Both were essentially the same.

She was fine. Everything was taken care of.

Taking a large grievance pay from a multi-million dollar media company had its…perks.

Nicole typed out a quick, rehearsed message.

_Made it to a small town out east. Subletting an apartment-type thing. Landlord doesn't seem like a serial killer. Still trying to wrap my head around everything. Give me a few weeks._

Nicole hit the 'send' button and turned her phone off.

Her last venture out of the apartment was three days ago, splurging on a cab to the city to get enough food (and toothpaste) to last her for at least a week.

It had even rained the last two days, deterring Nicole even more from going back outside. But a brightness shone through the wooden venetian blinds, casting striped shadows across the floor.

Nicole sat up in bed, letting her feet hang over the edge, reacquainting herself with her living space, as she had every morning. She took in the room--more of a studio than an apartment, and not much bigger than her place in Chicago.

The walls were dark wood panels, with intricate molding around the baseboards and ceiling.

The bathroom--though it was more of an alcove than a room--housed a ceramic, claw-footed tub, black and white tile floors, and brass fixtures.

A small kitchen set with a fridge, hotplate, a kettle, a sparse wooden table and two chairs, sat opposite from the bedroom.

Well…the bed.

Nedley provided her with a four-poster bed, the headboard adorned with carvings that matched the rest of the room

At least the mattress felt less than a decade old.

Two years ago, she went to Thailand on assignment. She traveled between fishing villages for three weeks. If she was lucky, she had a mat to sleep on in a shack on land. Otherwise, she'd sleep on the riverboats while she and her crew traveled. She was constantly seasick, and every bug gravitated toward her.

This place felt far less comfortable.

Every grass hut in Cambodia, every tiny hotel in Tokyo…she could still go back to Chicago, to her apartment with her bookshelves of travel memoirs and her movie collection, to the coffee shop at the end of her block with the good, cheap pastries, to the trains that could take her anywhere in a ten-mile radius.

That apartment was still there. A plane, train, automobile ride away.

She still could go home…But going back felt impossible.

She had a bed. A roof. A bathroom. Running water. A kitchen with a hotplate.

It would work.

It had to.

_Did she have any other choice?_

__

__

Yes.

To go home.

_No._

Time stood still since she left Chicago.

The days blurred together in a haze of cereal and canned soup and bad coffee and pacing and berating herself for making a rash decision sitting on the window sill next to the kitchen and wallowing in her misery and perusing the handful of old books haphazardly stacked on the lone bookshelf in the room and--

And then she'd catch a glimpse of the slowly emptying cellophane bag of cinnamon candies, and thoughts of an afternoon spent roaming the streets with a girl--a really pretty girl--pulled her back to her new reality.

Today, though, she looked to the table where she'd tossed the bag of candies that night--she'd grab a mindless handful every pass she made; another thing to pass the time--to find an empty bag. A small pang of disappointment twisted in her stomach.

Maybe it was time to pause the wallowing. At least for a day. She entertained the thought of making an impression in this town. Not just allow herself to be the town recluse who lived above the antique shop.

_That story would sell right away, though._

Across the square, church bells clanged--the call for morning service--as her stomach grumbled. Her thoughts returned to the empty apartment in which she sat--_her_ empty apartment--in a strange town with little contact with her old life…and an empty stomach.

Nicole showered and pulled on her least grungy set of clothes--jeans, a Henley, her favorite army green denim jacket. She futzed around the apartment longer than she knew she had to--checking her pantry for things that she needed to grab from the market, changing her socks _twice_, repacking her suitcase, making sure everything was where it needed to be.

Silently rehearsing any possible interaction with the inevitable passerby. Every interaction was a story, a chance to make a connection, a catalyst for something potentially bigger.

_Maybe it was just the hunger talking._

Hunger and dread settled similarly in the stomach.

\---

The shop was already open when Nicole finally emerged down the stairs. 

She noticed two customers--both in their mid-sixties, probably a married couple--bickering over a banquet near the front of the shop. Nedley sat at the desk right inside the front door--his dwelling other than his office--his feet propped on a rusty, aluminum footstool. He was thumbing casually through a newspaper. Nicole waved half-heartedly to him as she walked passed. 

"I'm heading out. For the day." 

He raised a bemused eyebrow in acknowledgement, then turned back to his paper.

She stepped out onto the porch, letting the door slam close behind her.

Her feet knew where they wanted to go, even if her brain didn't; they carried her in a direction they had already memorized.

Even though it was nearly mid-morning, Ghost River's residents sleepily opened up the town. Sandwich boards perched on sidewalks. Neon "open" signs clicked on. Doors propped ajar.

A green Dodge B pickup sat in front of Shorty's Market. On the sides of the bed read "Jett's Farm: Produce Producer since 1816." A tall, lanky man in overalls stood at the back of the truck calling out directions to a shorter, stockier man, who she recognized as the clerk from Shorty's.

Nicole strolled up to the truck, watching crates of produce be unloaded and stacked onto the sidewalk.

"Now, careful with those winter squash. They bruise easily!"

"Yeah, yeah. I hear you." Champ dropped a crate into the doorway of the shop and shoved it into the store with his foot.

"_Careful!_ I'll have you know that this is my best kohlrabi I've had in ten years and I need to know you're not about to knock around every crate you get like a bale of hay!"

Nicole tried to stifle a laugh, and even a few yards away from the truck, she failed and consequently caught the attention of the comment's target.

Champ stopped and turned toward Nicole.

"You like this?" Champ smirked. He set down the crate and rolled up his sleeves past his elbows, exposing his farmer's tan.

"Not particularly," Nicole muttered, as Champ slowly bent back down and lifted the box, gripping it extra tight and lifting it a bit slower. He peeked over his shoulder as he carried the box into the store.

Nicole craned her neck to glance past him. Half-lit aisle and boxes crowded the front of the store. The produce stand at the back was covered with a canvas sheet. Not a customer in sight.

Closed.

_Hunger and disappointment settled similarly in the stomach._

"Gonna be standing there and staring for a long time, though, sweetheart. Store's not open for another hour!"

Nicole's head snapped around, finding Champ casually leaning against the truck, propping his arm on the open window of the truck cab. Her jaw clenched. "Don't call me sweet--"

"Champ, my boy." Another man--probably the same age as Nedley, give or take a few years--came up behind Champ and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I believe there are still six more crates that need off-loading, and everything still needs to be inventoried and stocked. Since I was somehow convinced to give you money in exchange for hauling in said crates--goodness knows my back can't take it like it used to--I suggest you get to that. Instead of harassing my customers."

Champ's demeanor shifted immediately. He straightened his posture, his hands dropping to his sides. He nodded resolutely. "Roger that, Curtis." He turned on the heel of his boot and marched away.

_…Curtis…_

"He wasn't bothering you, was he?" Curtis jerked his head back toward the truck. At that moment, Champ was back to efficiently stacking crates of carrots and potatoes onto the sidewalk.

Nicole shook her head, letting her jaw relax a little. "He was fine."

Curtis looked pointedly at Nicole. "It's okay. You can say he's an asshole."

She squinted past Curtis's shoulder, where Champ and the man in the overalls were once again arguing over a bunch of rainbow carrots. "I think egotistical or…misogynistic might be better?" 

Curtis sighed, shaking his head and rubbing a hand through his salt and pepper hair. "This job keeps him mostly out of trouble. Until he opens his mouth. I'm sorry I left you alone with him."

Nicole shrugged. "I've been to the French Riviera during a frat house's spring break. I've had worse."

"I appreciate the honesty. Now. Is there anything I can help you with? Something tells me you're here with more purpose than to distract my bag boy." He pulled a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his red and white bowling shirt and dabbed at his forehead.

"I was just, uh…wandering around. Hoping to find somewhere for breakfast. I'm new here in town."

The man's face lit up. "Well, welcome to Ghost River! I'm--"

"Curtis, I need you to double-check how many crates of broccoli I owe you. My list says five and I only brought four." The man giving orders from the back of the truck appeared at Curtis's side, oblivious to Nicole's presence.

"Thank you, Robin," Curtis replied. He flipped through a few of the pages on his clipboard.

Nicole paused, waiting until Robin scampered back to his truck.

_…my uncle Curtis…_

"You're Waverly's uncle, right?"

Curtis looked up from his clipboard, and his face split into a wide grin. "That's what they keep telling me." He held his hand out to Nicole. "Curtis McCready. And you are?"

"Nicole."

"Nicole. Apologies for that interruption, Nicole. I believe I was telling you about…"

"Breakfast?"

"Yes! Breakfast! Best breakfast this side of the river is at Doc's Diner. Anything and everything you could want. Walk to the end of the block here, and it's around the corner. You can't miss it." Curtis pointed with his clipboard over Nicole's shoulder. 

"Thank you." Nicole didn't move. _Couldn't_ move. "And…if you don't mind, there's something else I was hoping you could help me with."

"I will do my best. I have lived in this small town my entire life. I know just about every nook and cranny. Good and bad."

"I was actually hoping to pick something up. Here. At your store."

"Store isn't open until eleven. We open late on Tuesdays to make sure we get all of our deliveries in. What are you looking for?"

"Those little cinnamon candies that you have in the wooden barrels up front."

"Oh." Curtis titled his head at Nicole. "That's a bit of an unusual request."

Nicole ran a nervous hand through her hair. "I…bought them the other day, and I hadn't had them since I was a kid and I wanted to buy another bag."

"Usually, I'd let you go in and grab it, but my wife gets mad at me when I 'conduct business outside of normal operating hours'." He chuckled. "Says it really messes with her inventory. Come back in an hour or so, and I'd be happy to get you all the cinnamon candies you desire."

"Oh. Well. I guess I'll be going then. I'll come back later. Thank you for the breakfast recommendation." She began to back away.

"You know what? Hold on a second." Curtis held up a finger, then dashed into the store. He stepped out of the market a few seconds later, holding a small plastic bag. "Here." He handed the bag of candy to Nicole.

Nicole looked at the bag of cinnamon candies in her hand, then back up at Curtis. "Oh no, I really can't--"

Curtis held up his hand. "None of that. We have too many bags of them anyway. One less won't make much of a difference. Consider it a welcome gift."

"Thank you."

Curtis chuckled. "You'll be one of _two_ people I know who actually wants and asks for them."

"Funny. That's what Waverly told me."

Curtis cocked his head again. "You said you were a _friend_ of Waverly's?"

"Kind of…I guess." Nicole shoved her hands into her jacket pockets, rocking back and forth on her heels. "Is…there something wrong?"

Curtis shook his head. "The other day, she came home and went on and on about this girl who helped her with a shelf and ended up showing around town and barely got her name out of her. My guess is you're the girl."

Nicole's heart skipped a beat. Or two. "Oh."

"Just missed her, though. She's not here in the mornings. Usually comes in in the afternoons and helps to close up." 

"Oh." Nicole looked into the darkened store again. "Will you tell her I stopped by?"

_Hope and hunger settled very similarly in the stomach._

Curtis smiled again. "I can do that. She'll be happy to know you're still in town."

Nicole's stomach chose that moment to give another loud gurgle. She wrapped an arm around her middle, looking sheepishly at Curtis. "Sorry."

Curtis smiled at her. "Sounds like your stomach wants to get going. And I mean it about Doc's. I'm there most mornings myself."

He winked, then turned away and walked into his store.

\---

The storefront of Doc's Diner looked similar to other store fronts in the town square. Candy-striped awning that was hard to discern whether it was brand-new or original and impeccably maintained. Though the wooden sign hanging in front of the door did, in fact, say "Doc's Diner", chipped gold lettering reading "Holliday's Apothecary" lined the bottom of the large store-front windows.

Through which she caught a blur of long, brown hair…

_Waverly._

Nicole's stomach dropped, and her heart either began to beat at warp speed or possibly just stopped beating altogether.

She skirted past the diner and stopped at the next shop that wasn't open yet, almost halfway down the block. She glared at her reflection in the window. Smoothed down flyaway strands of hair. Rubbed three months of poor sleep from her eyes. But when her eyes adjusted to the morning light again, she stopped.

She looked ridiculous. In more ways than one.

"Nicole, what are you doing?" she asked herself.

_Brown hair is a really common color. A lot of people here could have brown hair. You might just be making a fool of yourself._

Her stomach took that moment to rumble.

"Breakfast. I'm getting breakfast," said Nicole, nodding to herself resolutely. "And, if there's someone there, then…"

Curtis's words echoed in the back of her mind, wondering if she misheard him, or he was talking about someone else entirely.

_She'll be happy to know you're still in town._

Her stomach growled again.

"Okay. Fine. I'm going."

Doc's smelled of fresh coffee. Grease and salt--warm, but not burnt. Sugary pastries, just out of the oven.

It smelled like home, like the café's and greasy spoons of her old neighborhood.

Hunger and homesickness settled in the stomach very similarly.

Before her brain entertained the feeling any more, she heard a voice.

Over the low hum of morning conversation, one voice stood out, a voice she heard four days ago, but recognized immediately.

"Hey, Nicole!"

Waverly sat at a table in the far corner of the dining room. In front of her were stacks of manila file folders of varying thicknesses and notebooks and a half-filled coffee mug. She waved when Nicole finally spotted her.

Nicole waved back, half as enthusiastically as she wanted to. For the second time, the part of her brain that controlled her feet, thankfully, did not short-circuit in that moment. In a few quick steps, she was standing in front of Waverly.

"Hey!"

"Hey."

"Fancy running into you here!" Waverly beamed at her.

_She'll be happy to know you're still in town…_

Nicole had a hard time not smiling back. "I was…just…stopping by for some breakfast. I kept hearing about this place and I figured I'd finally check it out." Nicole shoved her hands in her jacket pockets, hoping Waverly wouldn't notice their sudden tremble. "You have room for one more?"

"Here. Have a seat." Waverly shoved a stack of notebooks into a canvas bag slung on the back of her seat, leaving a spot for Nicole at the table. Nicole eased herself onto the vinyl-covered chair

"I thought I'd see you around more. You been busy?"

"Yeah. Super busy," Nicole waved her hand away, more casual than she meant. "Haven't really left the apartment much."

"Totally understand, I've been here for two hours already this morning, and I barely feel like I've gotten anywhere." Waverly gestured nonchalantly at the files in front of her.

Though Nicole recognized the files--their size, the contents that stuck out in mildly tussled stacks-- she asked anyway.

"What are you working on?"

"Just organizing some things. And a bit of research as well," said Waverly. "I help Shorty with town records. We're _finally_ going to digitize them. I feel like I've been bugging him for years about it." She grabbed a stack of papers and held it up. "_This_ is all the electricity records from the 1920's _alone_."

"Sounds…interesting."

"It's a lot of work, but it's actually pretty fascinating. The place you're staying? Nedley's Antiques and Artifacts? First residential home in Ghost River to get running water and gas lighting back in the early 1900's--" Waverly stopped short, closing her mouth. She looked down, biting her lip "Sorry…I was rambling again, wasn't I?"

Nicole swore she saw a tinge of pink flush through her cheeks.

"No. Well, yeah, you kinda were. But it's really cool how you know so much about this place. And obviously care about it enough to spend your morning combing through public records that pre-date sliced bread." She caught Waverly's eyes for half a moment and the woman across from her immediately relaxed.

"I know," Waverly winced, shuffling papers in front of her. "But I need to remember that these things aren't always interesting to people. Let alone people who have never been here before."

"You never know what things people find interesting."

A man with a dark blue felted cowboy hat appeared at their table with a carafe of steaming coffee. Nicole caught a brief glance of him working behind the counter when she walked in. He wore a black waistcoat over a red plaid flannel, a notepad tucked into his breast pocket, jeans, and black boots. His face was stubbly, a thick mustache plated on his upper lip. 

"Need a warm up?" his voice came out in a slow, low twang.

"Yes, please!" Waverly slid her mug toward the edge of the table.

"And you? Coffee?" He looked at Nicole.

"Sure." Nicole reached for the overturned ceramic mug in front of her and held it out, grateful for something other than the terrible homebrewed coffee she'd been surviving on.

"Don't tell him I said this, but Doc makes the best coffee in the county." Waverly said, bringing her mug to her lips.

Nicole looked up at the man. "So there's a Doc of 'Doc's Diner', too?"

Doc tipped his hat to her. "Ma'am."

"Doc, meet my new friend, Nicole." Waverly reached across the table, laying a hand on top of Nicole's.

_Friend._

"Ma'am." Doc nodded at her again. "You good on food, Waverly?"

"I'll get something in a bit."

"You know where to find me." Doc sauntered away to the next table over.

"Don't worry. He's usually a lot more chatty."

"I'm not usually worried about restauranteurs not being chatty." Nicole absentmindedly took a swig from her mug and nearly choked as the hot, sludgy liquid hit her lips.

"Ugh. Yikes," Nicole sputtered. "That's, like, the strongest coffee I think I've ever drank. Tried to drink." 

"Sorry. I guess it take a bit of getting used to. It's good after a while. I promise," Waverly grimaced, taking another sip from her own cup.

"Supposed I'm used to how they make it in Chicago. Not as much…grit." Nicole picked a few grounds out of her teeth. "Does Doc at least have cream or sugar for his coffee or is he one of those 'coffee is best in it's natural, undoctored state' types?"

"You really _are_ from the city," Waverly chuckled, taking another sip from her own mug. "We aren't that fancy here. I'll be right back." Waverly pushed herself away from the table and walked up to the counter

Across the room, someone pounded on a small, silver bell. A narrow window on the wall behind the counter housed a line of plates, full of steaming food.

"I have three short stacks, two heart attacks, and a shingle with a shimmy and shake!" Doc scooped up the plates from the window without slowing down and delivered them to a nearby table.

Waverly returned holding a glass sugar dispenser and a small metal pitcher. "Cream and sugar."

"Thanks." Nicole grabbed the metal pitcher and poured a liberal amount of cream into her coffee. She took a tentative sip once the cream settled and turned the coffee a dark caramel. 

"Better?"

"A bit." Nicole still set her mug down a respectable distance away. Her stomach rumbled, angrier the longer she sat smelling and watching the plates that passed her.

"Is the food here really as good as everyone says?"

Waverly nodded emphatically. "I know this place is called Doc's, but Rosita's the reason this place does so well." 

"I see. What do you recommend?"

"Anything, just so long as you get it with a side of black beans. People have been trying for years to replicate Rosita's stewed black beans recipe and nobody's ever been able to do it."

"Noted."

"So…" Waverly closed her notebook and propped her chin in her hand. "Tell me more about yourself, Nicole Haught. What brought you to Ghost River?"

"I'm a writer."

"Yes, I remember that!" Waverly exclaimed. "Are you on assignment right now? Are you writing something about Ghost River? Or history of the northeast?"

Answers swirled in her head feeling suddenly warm, Nicole scooted her chair away from the table. "I actually have to go. I really don't mean to stay here long. You look busy anyway." 

"Oh." Waverly's smile dropped along with her hand. "I was rambling again, wasn't I?"

"No, it's really--"

Another voice chimed in before Nicole could finish her sentence.

"Waverly!"

The sing-song voice preceded what Nicole recognized to be the owner of the dance studio Waverly took her past the other day. She appeared at their table and took the seat between Nicole and Waverly, a wave of incense assaulting Nicole's nostrils. Nicole stifled a cough.

"Good morning, Mercedes." Waverly sighed, opening her notebook again.

"I hoped I would find you here," Mercedes trilled. She looked at Nicole.

"Well, well, well. Who's your new friend?"

_Friend._

Waverly looked up. "Mercedes, this is Nicole. She's new to Ghost River. Just moved into Nedley's. Be nice."

Mercedes eyed Nicole. "How'd you catch _this_ tall drink of water?"

Waverly playfully rolled her eyes before returning to her notebooks, flipping through pages, shuffling papers, scribbling notes in margins.

Nicole felt a rush of heat in her cheeks. "She's…been showing me around town a bit."

Mercedes leaned toward Nicole and murmured "You picked a good one to follow around, darling." She winked at Nicole.

Waverly slammed her pen down and looked up. "Okay, Mercedes. What do you want?"

Mercedes leaned forward, resting her crossed arms on the table. "I was hoping you could confirm the rumors."

Waverly furrowed her brow. "What rumors?"

"That your sister is back in town today." Mercedes raised a curious eyebrow, her mouth twisted in a wry smile.

Color drained from her face. She sat back in her chair. "No…she wouldn't." She looked down, searching the papers in front of her, then looked up again. "What day is it?"

Wood and glass and metal crashed behind Nicole. Waverly, who was now staring, wide-eyed, at something behind Nicole.

Nicole spun around, nearly tipping her chair over, finding that the something was a some_one_. 

Nicole barely got a glance at the newcomer before she had to turn the other direction. Long, wavy brown hair followed a hurricane of a woman, marching straight for the counter.

Nicole strained to see the trail of smoke that had to be following her.

"Coffee. Now." The restaurant had not quieted or slowed with the arrival of its new and fiery customer, but the low, punctuated voice carried through the din. Doc, holding a tray of scones to refill the pastry display, had his back turned and had not noticed her.

"Holliday!" The woman slammed her hand down on the counter, rattling the metal napkin dispensers, startling both Doc and Nicole. Doc spun around, nearly dropping the tray. His eyes grew wide as his eyes landed on the woman.

"Coffee. _Now._" She repeated her previous statement, her voice somehow lower and angrier. In a matter of seconds, Doc, unblinking, set down the tray and reached for the carafe of coffee behind him and was quickly pouring coffee into a large paper travel cup. He barely got the lid on before the woman snatched it from him without so much as another word.

Just as quickly as she burst in, she stormed out of the diner, the door crashing closed behind her, rattling the front windows.

If this was a movie, all operations of the restaurant would have ceased, each diner pausing mid sip, chew, brining utensil to mouth, to watch this hurricane blow through the restaurant.

The commotion concerned none of the restaurant's other patrons.

None but one.

“Mercedes, what day is it?” Waverly's voice trembled.

"Tuesday, darling," said Mercedes casually, filing her nails--with an emery board procured from who-knows-where. "We have a meeting tonight."

“No, no,” said Waverly, waving her hand dismissively. “What _day_ is it? Of the month?”

"The twenty-seventh," Nicole offered, surprised at the calmness in her voice. While the days mostly blurred together, she tracked her days from her leave of notice, two days of wallowing, packing up and traveling for another two days, sulking around Ghost River for a week. "Today's the twenty-seventh."

“_Shit._” Waverly hastily shoved papers, folders, books, everything on the table in front of her into her canvas tote bag. "She's back in town."

Nicole looked wildly between Mercedes and Waverly. "Who's--" 

"_Wynonna!_"

"Who's Wyno--"

"I have to go!"

"Here. Let me help you--"

"I got it!" 

Nicole, taken aback at Waverly's outburst, sat back in her seat.

Waverly hoisted her bulging bag onto her shoulder. "Doc can keep the change. Tell him it's for a new hat!" The money had barely landed on the table before Waverly flew out the door

Nicole blinked, watching the "Closed" sign swing erratically against the door.

"What…the hell was _that_?"

"_That_," Mercedes crooned, sitting back in her chair, a smug smile stretched across her face, "was Wynonna Earp. _Thus_ confirming my suspicions."

"Does that…Is that something that normally happens around here?" Nicole pointed over her shoulder toward the door, the "Closed" sign still swinging against the door.

Mercedes sat forward, her elbows resting on the table. "My dear, you were just witness to your first Earp sister moment. And I suspect it will not be your last." She tapped the emery board against the table to punctuate her last few words.

"Really? Are they…trouble? Waverly looked…upset."

"Those girls--that whole family, really--have a deep and troubling history here. Those two girls were served a fate on a silver platter they did not order." Mercedes paused. "And they are doing their damned best to make it."

"So…what was _that_ all about?"

"You hang around long enough, you'll find out." Mercedes winked. Before she could prod any further, someone dropped a plate on the table in front of Nicole.

"You look like you need something to eat. But you are just too scared to ask, so you will just sit here, not drinking my coffee." Nicole opened her mouth to retort, but nothing came out. Instead, she looked up to find Doc standing with his carafe of coffee, his eyes darker, his face in a scowl, his placid demeanor now gone. 

Mercedes nudged the plate closer to Nicole. "You don't need to be a local to eat the pastries, darling. Doc makes 'em fresh every morning. He must like your aura or something. Usually doesn't give away the raspberry ones." 

Nicole closed her mouth and looked down at the plate. A large, square pastry sat in the middle, with shiny, ruby-red jam smeared over the center. She looked back up at Doc.

"Raspberry?"

"I had a hunch."

"A-_hem_." Mercedes chirped. "Where's my good morning treat, darling?"

Doc rolled his eyes and marched back to the counter and quickly returned with a mug. He dropped it on the table, barely letting it settle before emptying the carafe.

"You gonna be alright there, cowboy?"

"I am fine, and, in any case I do not know what could have possibly affected me in such a way that I would be incapable of doing my job." A few drips of coffee spilled on the table as he topped off Mercedes's mug. He swiped the cash Waverly left for him and stormed over to another table.

"There's a story there, too, isn't there?"

"Just something else you'll have to stick around to find out." Mercedes tipped her mug back, slamming her empty mug down in front of her. "Ta-ta, darling." Mercedes waggled her fingers at Nicole.

Just ask quickly as she thought she had settled in, she was alone.

Again.

At least she had food in front of her to keep her mind occupied.

She bit off a piece of her Danish and everything melted in a mix of butter and tartness and the slightest bit of sweet crunch of granules of sugar sprinkled on top. She chased it with a sip of coffee. The sweetness of the pastry actually mellowed out the coffee. With that combination, Nicole eventually finished her cup.

Doc came back and offered to top off her coffee. She ordered eggs and toast and a side of black beans and settled in to people watch.

As Nicole sat in the diner, sipping her sludgy coffee, she wished she had a notebook with her. Not unlike the white stucco and limestone villas of the Mediterranean, elderly men sat at a table across the diner from her--probably their usual spot they've sat at every morning for the last twenty years--kibitzing and kvetching.

Doc returned to her table at some point to refresh her coffee. She eventually finished that cup, too.

She watched him conduct his restaurant and small wait staff with the relaxed precision of an orchestra director. Orders in. Tables cleared. Coffees refilled. Exact change given. Her second round of breakfast foods came swiftly enough to suggest efficiency and urgency, but not fast enough to infer carelessness.

_(Everyone was right. The food was excellent. Especially the beans.)_

With the addition of a few tables lined along the far wall, the diner still looked like a drug store. Honeycombed shelves lined the walls, some compartments containing colored glass bottles. The counter was made of dark, knotted wood, with half a dozen vinyl-topped stools perched underneath.

_"Charming" would be the descriptor that would've made it past her editor._

Then, Nicole's eye would catch the seat across from her, now empty…the seat occupied by the girl Nicole accidentally walked across town to see.

The girl who didn't want to know her story, who just wanted to sit and talk about everything else.

Who didn’t take pity on her.

Who managed to make the feeling of homesickness flitted away like a swatted fly when she called her name.

Who had a spark that glinted in her eyes when she chattered on about the lesser-known parts of her town's history. The warmth that radiated off her, that Nicole felt the moment she sat down at the table.

And vanished when she left, chasing after her sister.

A warmth that even a cup of coffee couldn't replicate.

_How can you miss someone you just met?_

On his second pass, Nicole waved her hand before Doc tilted the carafe. She pulled out her wallet--always sitting in the left inside pocket of her jacket--and pulled out a few bills. "Sorry for camping out here so long. How much for breakfast?"

Doc shook his head. "You may stay here as long as you like. And it is on the house. All of it. " He held up the carafe. "More coffee?"

"I'm good. Thank you."

Doc set the carafe down. "I was also wanting to make sure you weren't stuck or wondering where to go, or if you were waiting for someone else, or if I needed to point you in the right direction out of town, or…"

"I live here, actually." said Nicole. "In the apartment above Nedley's place."

"Pardon me. I just assumed you were an out-of-town visitor to your breakfast companion." He took off his hat and extended his hand. "The name is officially John Henry. But…most people just call me Doc."

Nicole took his hand. It was firm, but not tight. Rough, like he'd spent decades working with his hands prior to working at the diner. "Nicole. Haught."

"Welcome to Ghost River, Nicole Haught." Doc slid his hat back on his head. "How is the Nedley estate treating you?"

"It's…fine."

"I even lived in that very apartment when my father and I were not on good speaking terms."

"Anything I should know about the place? Or Nedley?"

Doc sighed, and squinted his eyes in contemplation. "He mostly keeps to himself, and while a millionaire he is not, one cannot in good conscience proclaim that he is a scoundrel. Rest assured Randy Nedley is a good, honest man."

"Anything I need to check out or…look out for while I'm here?"

_Some habits die hard._

"You sure I can't pay you for your troubles?"

A shrill voice came from the back of the diner. "Doc! I have four orders of pancakes and an omelet dyin' in the window and, I swear, if they go cold, I'm walking out of here."

Doc's mustache rippled--suggesting a hint of a mile--and he picked up the pot of coffee. "I believe that is my signal to attend to other matters. I shall leave you be." He tipped his hat once more, then sauntered away.

Before she left, Nicole stuck some money under the metal napkin dispenser. Just in case.

\---

Late morning flowed into early afternoon as Nicole wandered around town, finding places that she missed when Waverly walked with her.

A local art and crafts shop with candles and metal sculptures and wood carvings. A crusty old tavern. She walked by Mercedes's dance studio again, and watched her bark at a different gaggle of six-year-olds, this time dressed as pumpkins. She passed by Shorty's again, now open and bustling with customers. Wooden stalls of the vegetables she saw hauled in this morning sat gleaming in the afternoon sun.

As soon as she spotted the gazebo--painted a pristine white with ivy crowning the roof--stood unoccupied in the town green, she parked herself on one of the bench seats.

And watched.

Years of travel writing trained her brain to look at a town. Deduce which storefronts were authentic versus which were tourist traps. Which restaurants--of the three she spotted--featured local cuisine as opposed to quick, cheap, tourist staples. Nothing that she could see yet boasted of homemade taffy or fudge.

More signs greeted her about an upcoming harvest festival, boasting it's century-odd anniversary. A classic small-town attraction.

This town was built for tourists--lots of folks coming and going--and tourism is what kept this town going. A small smattering of locals to keep the paint fresh, the lightbulbs changed, the greenery uniformly trimmed. Always working for people who would come and go within a few days.

Ghost River belonged to people who didn't live here.

She'd seen her fair share--mostly on the coasts of the United States, but a few in Europe, crawling with international visitors during peak season.

The afternoon crowd was more placid than the morning hustlers and bustlers, reminding Nicole of afternoons in Albacete when every shop, restaurant, office closed for siesta. But with every passing person, Nicole couldn't help but double-check…

No sign of Waverly.

The church bells tolled four o'clock when Nicole decided to walk back to the antique shop. A pair of college-aged girls walked out of the shop--one with an ornately painted urn, the other with a large mirror with a carved frame. Nicole held the gate open for them.

(Closer proximity revealed to Nicole that one of the girl's finds was, actually, a garden gnome. An antique _garden gnome_.)

Nedley remained at the front desk, reading the same newspaper.

"You have fun today in the outside world?"

Nicole leaned against the door. "You could say that. How were…things here today?"

"The usual. Sold some things to people who don't really understand the value of what they're buying. They just think it's 'rustic and would look nice in their breakfast nook'." Nedley folded his newspaper and dropped it on the desk. He stood and scooted around the desk, snatching a mug with "Dad" crudely painted on the side. "I'm closing the shop in a bit, but feel free to keep looking around. Just don't steal nothin." Nedley took a long sip from his mug and shuffled away.

Despite living in this house for a week, Nicole had never explored the labyrinth of oddities that greeted her every time she walked in the door and lined the pathway to her upstairs hideaway.

As she wandered, the light outside changed from yellow to golden. The rotating light cast geometric shadows on the walls.

Grandfather clocks clanged at intermittent times.

The shop contained nothing of particularly exquisite value or interest. Old school desks. Coffee grinders. A few typewriters in various states of decomposition. Rusty farm tools that appealed to your typical hipster buyer more as a decoration than function. Against a wall stood a shelf full of old books with frayed and cracked bindings. They had titles like _Bacchus Behave: The Lost Arte of Polite Drinking, In Praise of Wild Trout_, and _Gathering One's Wits: Survival Tips when One is Unexpectedly Lost in the Woods_.

She lapped the shop three times, and it wasn't until the fourth that she spotted a birds-eye map of Chicago, dated 1892. Her eyes landed on the familiar street names immediately.

The Chicago River bisected the city, then swayed north and forked off to join Lake Michigan. Washington and Jackson Parks on the south side.

Still her Chicago.

The feeling when she walked into Doc's that she had been staving off all day returned. She didn't stop it.

For a moment, she allowed herself the shallow, superficial memories of the place she called home for twenty-six years. Hot, steamy, carby pierogis on cold afternoons. Italian ices in mid-July. Hopping on the train and riding anywhere, even just to think. Walking the boardwalk along the lake.

_Anything more than that--thoughts of actually getting on a plane and going home--made her hands shake and her stomach churn and her lungs close up._

She scanned the remainder of the map, trying to ground herself, finding cross-streets with the same names a hundred years on, imagining what was new or replaced between 1982 and now. 

Along the lake, where the Field Museum and aquarium and Millennial Park and--

The court house. Walking in with her lawyer. Walking out with a speck of dignity and half a million dollars in grievance pay.

_Money that led her to standing in a run-down antique shop in a tourist trap of a town._

"I'm headed off to the meeting." 

"Huh?" Nicole spun around. Nedley stood in the entryway of the shop, pulling on a weathered, fleece-collared jean jacket.

"It's Tuesday. Every other week there's a town meeting at Mercedes's studio. I know you're not going to be here for very long, but you should come. It's always more entertaining than whatever's on television."

"I think I'll pass." Nicole's eyes still fixated on the map, the details becoming less clear with the fading light. She blinked and turned back to Nedley.

"Okay. Sure. I'll go."

"Better get a move on, then," Nedley grunted. "Should be a fun show tonight."

Nicole looked back at the map once more, now barely able to make out the title of the map, printed in large, embossed, letters. The light suddenly shifted, a cloud covered the sun or maybe the sun just set faster up here, but the moment she looked back, the map was nearly unintelligible. Chicago was gone, overtaken by the shadows.

Nicole caught the door just as it was closing and followed Nedley out into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking around for this one, friends. I hope I made the wait worth it.
> 
> Buckle up. I'm in this for the long haul.
> 
> Comments and kudos are, as always, loved and appreciated.
> 
> Find me over on the Twitters at @TeachEarp_.
> 
> Be good to each other.


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicole witnesses an integral part of Ghost River. And gets more than she bargained for.

_And somebody's mama knows somebody's cousin_  
_And somebody's sister knows somebody's husband_  
_And somebody's daughter knows somebody's brother_  
_And around here we all look out for each other_

People migrated, almost zombie-like, from all directions toward the refurbished barn that housed Mercedes's dance studio, toward the soft, golden light radiating from inside, a beacon in the center of town. 

Two blocks of wooden folding chairs lined the hall, an aisle splitting them, all facing a raised platform. On the platform stood a wooden lectern, flanked by a row of five more wooden chairs. The barn smelled faintly of leather and wood polish and incense. Framed posters of dance companies and old movies covered the walls.

"Sit where you like." Nedley left Nicole in the doorway, and he shuffled off toward the raised platform, where a small group of people were already gathered.

The town council of Ghost River.

Nicole recognized Mercedes, wrapped in a deep purple shawl, talking emphatically with a middle-aged woman with the most well-coiffed head of platinum blonde hair that Nicole had ever seen.

A few dozen people mingled with one another amidst the chairs. None looked younger than forty…maybe even fifty.

Nicole spotted an empty row in the middle of the left block, the furthest distance from any of the other townsfolk. She gave herself some room from the end of the row, and sat down.. 

As soon as she sat down, the urge to leave overwhelmed her and her thoughts stared to spiral, drowning out the chatter growing louder around her.

_What the hell are you doing here? You don't know these people. You certainly don't care about them enough to listen to them blather on about town ordinances and keeping the leaves swept off the sidewalks and it's all just nonsense anyway nobody gets what they want the people in charge just put a band-aid on it to call it good--_

"Hi."

A voice cut through the din of anxiety and doubt.

Nicole looked to her right.

At the end of the row stood Waverly. 

"Hey," Nicole offered weakly.

"Is that seat taken?"

Nicole quickly glanced around her, noting the empty chairs.

"No."

"Cool." Waverly shuffled easily down the row and sat in the seat to the right of Nicole.

"Sorry I kinda ran off earlier. Crazy family stuff."

"'s not a big deal. We all have 'em."

"What?"

"Crazy families."

"Right?" Waverly laughed, but Nicole sensed a hollowness. Before she could press further, Waverly continued the conversation in another direction. "How was the rest of your day? Did you get to explore Ghost River any more?" Waverly dug around in her purse.

"Um…" Nicole but her lip, sifting through her day of wandering, contemplation, trying to keep herself out of a dangerous thought spiral. "Yeah."

"That's great." Waverly pulled something out of her purse and held it out to Nicole. "Cinnamon candy?" she whispered.

Nicole looked down and saw Waverly holding out a cellophane bag.

"I snatched them on accident this morning. At the diner, when I left," said Waverly. "I promise I didn't open it."

"Thanks," said Nicole, taking the bag from Waverly. She looked down at the bag, and then tore it open. She offered it to Waverly.

"Cinnamon candy?"

Waverly smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling, they way she smiled that morning, before taking a few.

"I'm glad I found someone to share these with," Waverly said, popping one into her mouth. "We're _technically_ not supposed to have food in here, but people sneak in stuff anyway. Sometimes these meetings get a bit…long."

"Just like a movie theater, then." Nicole dumped a few into her hand and set the bag in her lap.

A deep, jovial laugh caught Nicole's attention. She looked toward the front of the room, spotting Nedley, but immediately could tell the laugh didn't come from him. It came from the man standing opposite him--the kind shopkeeper she met that morning. He was laughing so hard he had to place his hand on Nedley's shoulder to steady himself. Nedley didn't react with anything but his stoic expression.

"Mr. Nedley didn't mention he was on the council…"

Waverly shrugged. "Doesn't surprise me. Doesn't tell people a lot of things unless completely necessary."

Nicole stuck a candy in her mouth. "He _did_ at least tell me that the meeting's going to be quite the event. What's going on?"

Waverly shifted in her seat. Several seconds passed in silence filled with only the buzz of the conversations surrounding them. "Wow, people really did show up tonight…" Waverly scoured the room, which had doubled in occupancy in the last few minutes. More people gathered near the platform.

Maybe she didn't hear her…

"Okay, so who else have we got here? Is that the town council? Ghost River's finest?" Nicole leaned over to Waverly.

Waverly nodded, pointing toward the front of the room. "Well, obviously you know Nedley. And Mercedes. Talking to Nedley is my Uncle Curtis." 

Nicole smiled, finally recognizing the man with the thinning salt and pepper hair and the bowling shirt. "I think I met him this morning. At the market. He was very kind to me."

Waverly smiled in return. "Yep. Sounds about right. Doesn't matter if you're in town for five minutes or five years, Curtis will treat you like you're family."

Nicole scanned the room, too, now almost completely full. She saw Doc standing by the side entrance to the barn--still in his cowboy hat, having swapped his waistcoat for a jean jacket--talking with a man in dusty overalls and a skull cap. 

"And who's talking to Doc?" Nicole nodded in the direction of the men.

"That's Robin Jett. One of the local farmers that, like most of us, have roots that go back over a hundred years. Doc's probably trying to bargain for discounted apples for his pies or something." 

"What do you mean 'most of us'?"

The question came out without much hesitation. No malice or ill-intent or defensiveness; rather, an old habit from years of conducting interviews. When an interesting turn of phrase comes up, there's usually a reason behind. So ask.

Waverly's smiled faltered slightly. "Just that a bunch of folks around here have lived here a long time. Like the Nedleys and the Jetts and the Gardners and--oh! That's Jeremy!" Waverly pointed--overly emphatically--toward Doc and Robin. Another young man, with dark, curly hair, approached them casually, slipping his hand into Robin's. He stood up on his toes and placed a quick kiss on the young man's cheek.

Waverly's smile returned. "Robin's boyfriend. He actually was--"

"People! Please find a seat and bring your attention to the front. We have a lot of business to address this evening." The well-coiffed woman stood at the wooden podium, pounding a small gavel against the ledge.

"And who's _that_?"

Waverly pursed her lips. "Bunny Loblaw. Head of the town council. Head decision-maker in Ghost River."

"So, like a mayor?"

"I guess. Every decision she makes still has to go through council. Publicly."

"Why?"

Waverly shrugged again. "It's the way it's always been done."

People were wrapping up conversations and settling into the chairs surrounding Nicole and Waverly.

Waverly frantically peered around the room again. "That's weird…" she muttered. "Wynonna said she'd--"

Metal squeaked and a door slammed against the buffers of the sliding barn door. The room quieted immediately. Everyone in the barn turned around, including Nicole. In the doorway, illuminated only by the soft lights of the barn, stood a woman in a leather jacket, holding a small glass bottle. She stared intensely into the room, directly at the council. 

"Wynonna. How nice of you to join us. You're just in time," Bunny crooned. Her voice was cheerful and she had a smile stretched across her face, but her voice dripped with disdain. "I'm sorry to remind you that, ahem," she cleared her throat, nodding at the bottle in Wynonna's hand. "Food and drink are not permitted in a meeting."

"Sorry. Forgot." Wynonna's words slurred together. "Been a long time." She took a swig from the bottle before setting on the ground outside the barn. "There. No food or drink."

Bunny sighed, her smile never faltering. "If you care to actually join us instead of wasting our evening on your dramatics, I ask that you find a seat."

Wynonna's eyes searched the room and fell to Waverly, and skirted around the edge of the barn toward where she and Nicole sat. Everyone else turned around in their seats toward the front.

"I guess that was a good a way as any to call this town meeting to begin." Bunny's cheerful voice rang through the hall, her hands clasped on the lectern. "For our first order of business…"

"Where _were_ you--" Waverly hissed once Wynonna finally joined them. She sat in the empty seat on the edge of their row, to the left of Nicole.

"Got caught up in some stuff," Wynonna hissed back. Whispers of alcohol escaped her mouth and tickled Nicole's nostrils. She reached across Nicole into the bag of candy, pulling out a handful. She paused before leaning back in her chair. She jerked her thumb in Nicole's direction, her eyes narrowed. "Who's this?" 

"Nicole," Waverly and Nicole answered simultaneously.

Nicole answered tersely. "Nicole. Haught."

"Yeah you are," Wynonna snorted, settling into her seat, tossing a few candies into her mouth. Nicole felt her face go red, and she shifted lower in her seat. Even if she could think of a response, Bunny's sickly sweet voice drowned out anything she would've said.

"We are, once again, revisiting the issue of allowing the owners of Shorty's Market to acquire a state liquor license." 

A wave of groans and sighs of varying pitches cross through the crowd. Maddie rolled her eyes. Mercedes grinned wryly at the crowd.

"Is this a sore spot for this town?" Nicole murmured.

"Kind of," Waverly answered. "It's something the town council's gone back and forth on for years."

"The motion is put forth by…Champ Hardy," Bunny sighed.

"Champ?" Nicole wondered. "Why is he--"

"It's still Gus and Curtis, technically, but the rules are that you can't put a motion forward if you're on the council. And if a motion's rejected, you have to wait five years to try again. So they keep having to rotate through different people in town to speak. I've done it. Doc's done it. Mercedes even did it before she was on the council. There's a pool on when it's finally gonna pass."

"They couldn't get a majority vote on an alcohol permit?"

Waverly shook her head. "Any measure that could potentially 'impede the health and well-being of the town', it has to be a unanimous vote."

"So…she wouldn't let it pass because she thinks prohibition is still a thing?" Nicole let herself chuckle.

"Gus usually writes them," this time, the commentary came from Wynonna, "because she wants to make sure nobody skips over important details like only be denied by a dumb loophole that Bunny usually pulls out of her--"

"Hey, peanut gallery, I'm trying to listen," a voice hissed from behind them.

By the time they refocused their attention back toward the front, Champ had already made his way to the front. He stood in the aisle, looking more like a defendant in front of the Repo Man. Repo Woman.

"Mr. Hardy, what are your reasons why this establishment should acquire a liquor license?" Bunny's commanding voice--now trying to not sound strained or irritated--brought their attention back to the front.

Champ pulled a set of wrinkled notecards from the back pocket of his jeans. "We get lots of tourists in town. They sometimes want to celebrate or need a night-cap."

"_Who says 'night-cap' anymore_?" Wynonna murmured to herself. 

"If residents in Ghost River do wish to partake in imbibement, they must travel far away to the city to purchase their libations," Champ continued. "With that, they are taking their money to other establishments. And not keeping it in our lovely town."

"Oh, yeah, Gus definitely wrote this. I don't think Champ has any four-syllable words in his normal vocabulary," Wynonna quipped. 

_I can see why people like coming. The commentary is great._

"And, when people don't feel like driving out to…um…" Champ stammered. He bit his lip and worriedly looked around the room.

"Uh, Mrs. McCready?" he whispered. "I don't think I can say this word in the middle of a meeting."

Across the room, sat next to Curtis, Gus hung her head and rubbed her temples with her fingers.

"Something wrong, Mr. Hardy?" Bunny asked innocently.

"No, ma'am." Champ cleared his throat. "Um. When people don't feel like driving out…out to who-the…_heck_-knows where…to get their liquor…they'll just make their own. And tarnish your perfect society where nobody drinks or does anything bad. That is why the good and clean establishment Shorty's Market should get a liquor license." Champ rested his arms at his side and flashed a grin up at the council.

Bunny calmly folded her hands and perched them on the podium.

_She's going to incinerate that boy right here and now,_ Nicole thought to herself.

"I appreciate the plea, Mr. Hardy, but the council does not vote on matters when profanity is used. Your motion is denied."

A ripple of moaning and sighing spread through the crowd as Champ sulked back to his seat.

Nicole craned her neck around the people in front of her to see Gus shooting daggers at Bunny.

"The next item on the agenda…" Bunny scanned the papers in front of her. "Is the issue of the future of the land plot once belonging to Wyatt Earp, and has been a blemish on the town's since Edwin Earp died and fell into neglect and disarray by his wayward children and grandchildren." 

Everyone in the barn sat up a little straighter, leaned in a little closer. Nicole hadn't noticed that there was still some whispers and side conversations happening with the last motion--not to mention she was partaking in one herself--until Bunny read off the next item of business. Every voice quieted, every conversation halted.

Whatever was about to happen, for everybody in the room, it was worth listening to.

Wynonna and Waverly shrank into their seats.

"As per the town charter, any land deemed abandoned will go up for public auction ten years after its last occupants vacate the premises." Bunny scanned the room, her eyes subtly landing in the back, flitting between Waverly and Wynonna, as if Nicole was invisible.

Wynonna sat, her face in a deep scowl, unmoving, her hands shoved in the pockets of her leather jacket. 

"As of noon today the property now belongs to the town of Ghost River," Bunny sighed. "Following procedures set by the town charter, the council will vote on the future of the plot, unless there are any willing community members who wish to take ownership and finally do…_something_ with that land."

Nicole looked around the room. Everyone seemed to be looking at one another as well. The air became thick and warm, made worse by the lingering aroma of incense. Even Nicole felt deeply uncomfortable.

"Well, I guess that settles it. Nobody wants that disgraceful plot of land. Motion for the city council to--"

"I'll take it!"

Every head in the room turned to the source of the voice.

Gus stood, raising her hand. Beside her, Curtis held his head in his hands.

"I'll take it," she repeated.

Bunny raised her eyebrows. "My, this is a surprising turn of events."

"You asked who wanted it. I want it." Gus clenched her jaw.

"I'm worried, Mrs. McCready, that this outburst of yours may be just an irate reaction from your inability to pass your moonshine bill earlier."

"No," said Gus resolutely. "I want it."

Bunny looked at her curiously. "Well, then. Do you agree to the upkeep and care of the Earp property to the best of your ability?"

"Yes."

"And do you understand that your failure to do so will result in loss of property and the obligation to restore the town and site to something that would actually _benefit_ the town.

Gus set her jaw and swallowed. "Yes."

"Of course you would pull a bullshit move like that." It wasn't loud, but loud enough that the heated gaze of every eye in the room rushed past Nicole and Waverly, directly toward Wynonna.

Bunny took a step away from her lectern, looking out into the audience. "Excuse me?"

"This is not the time, Wynonna--" Gus held a dismissive hand up in Wynonna's direction.

"When would be a good time?" Wynonna stood, the feet of her chair scraping on the wood floor.

Gus turned toward the back of the room, her gaze finally landing on Wynonna. "Ten years ago."

Wynonna scoffed. "Like I didn't make my decision ten years ago."

"You're being ridiculous." 

"_I'm_ being ridiculous? _You're_ the one who can't seem to let go of the past and let that place rot away like it deserves to. Give it over to the state. Let it die."

Her words--icy and surly--bounced around the dance hall, reverberating as if it was completely empty, not full of people completely enraptured by the argument playing out in front of them.

Nicole included. 

"It was your mother's wish--"

"Oh _now_ you're caring about my mother's wishes."

"Ladies!" Bunny rapped the gavel against the lectern. "As _riveting_ as this melodrama is, I will not let it interrupt and prolong my meeting. I move to postpone this issue will be postponed until the next meeting. Council, all those in favor?" She turns casually toward her fellow councilmembers.

All five of them half-heartedly raised their hands. Bunny turns to face the crowd again, a smug smile tugging at her lips.

"I guess that's settled. The matter will be addressed again in two week's time. Maybe that will give you some time to collect your thoughts and reign in your feelings while the rest of us actually try to keep this town functioning. If you could take your seats and collect yourselves. Otherwise, I _will_ have you escorted off the premises."

Gus collapsed back into her chair, her expression a mix between fury and disbelief. Curtis lay a hand on her knee. Bunny ignored them and continued.

"Well," she sighed. "Let us press on to the main event: Ghost River's upcoming harvest festival--

The rest of Bunny's statement was shrouded by the sound of metal scraping as Wynonna once again threw open the sliding door of the barn. She cast one more furious look in Gus and Bunny's direction and disappeared into the night. A cool, sweet autumnal breeze floated into the barn after her, greeting the silent and stunned crowd.

"Did…did you want to follow her?" Nicole whispered softly to Waverly.

Waverly, sitting still as stone, her eyes focused ahead of her didn’t answer. She just shook her head, before dropping in into her hands. Nicole sat back in her chair, feeling helpless.

Nicole remained seated, her mind swirled just as it had before the meeting. Only this time, it was about…whatever she just witnessed. Her mind raced to try and fill in gaps and think through backstories. She felt…curious. She wanted to know more about this peculiar town.

The rest of the meeting continued with significantly less drama, though Bunny and the rest of the council and the town treated every issue as if it had the possibility of crumbling the entire social and economic structure of Ghost River.

There's talk of whether or not they should rent out a horse or two for hay rides for the upcoming harvest festival. And which breeds they should look for, to provide a more "authentic" experience for visitors.

Many of the audience members had opinions on the matter and at least fifteen minutes were spent arguing over quarter horses or work horses.

In the end, they decided to just rent a couple of tractors. They would revisit the idea of horses the next year.

Every few minutes Nicole cast a sideways glance at Waverly, to see if she ever relaxed. She never did. And so between them blossomed a silence that suddenly became louder than the politics surrounding them. No sideways glances. No snide commentary. No more cinnamon candies.

A woman named Maddie reported on a slew of local artists who are slated to have booths at the festival.

Bunny interrupted her on more than one occasion. "Are you _sure_ they're local? I don't believe I've heard of _any_ of these--"

Maddie was always ready with a quick and cutting retort. "Yes. They're local. Just because there's a book you don't know the title of, doesn't make it not exist."

Soon after they resolved the vendor issues, Bunny adjourned the meeting, acting as if the entire evening had been the most normal, procedural occurrence in Ghost River. Everything was as it should be, as it always was.

People rose from their seats and started to exit the barn.

Beside her, Waverly remained in her seat, her unblinking gaze fixed on the empty seat in front of her. 

Nicole didn't want to even attempt to untangle the thoughts that were undoubtedly swirling in her mind.

Questions that intertwined with some of Nicole's.

But now was not the time.

"Hey, I'm gonna start heading back to the shop--"

Waverly jumped up from her seat, throwing her arms in the air. She stalked off down the aisle and out the back door.

Nicole's heart sank, regretting even speaking. She looked down at her feet and angrily rubbed them into the polished wood floor.

Something near her feet caught her eye.

Waverly left her bag.

It took less than a blink for Nicole to grab the bag and follow Waverly. Once outside the barn, she desperately looked up and down the street. She assumed Waverly would head south toward the antique shop or even back toward Shorty's. She headed north. Toward what, Nicole didn't know.

It took longer than expected to wade through the throng of people milling outside the barn, processing the new happenings that were sure to make the gossip rounds by morning. Once she broke free, it was easy to catch Waverly. She was the only one on the sidewalk, her head bent low, walking briskly, purposefully.

"Hey!" When Nicole caught up to her, she reached out and brushed against the back of Waverly's arm.

Waverly yelped and whipped around, nearly stumbling over her feet.

"Woah, woah!" Nicole caught Waverly by the hand to steady her.

And time stopped.

Nicole clutching Waverly's hand.

Waverly looking back at her, her eyes wild and misty. Surprised.

And…not?

And also…relieved?

Time unfroze as Nicole's fingers started to burn in a white hot blaze that shot up her arm and landed somewhere in her chest.

"Sorry." Nicole dropped Waverly's arm. Her arm hung limply at her side, her fingers still tingling. She took a few steps back, though she held up Waverly's bag. "You forgot something."

Waverly's face softened, her shoulders slumped. She wiped hastily at her eyes. She took her bag and slung it over her shoulder. ""Oh. Thanks."

"No problem," Nicole stuffed her hands into her jacket pockets. Down the street behind them, people were starting to disperse from the meeting, retiring back to their homes to finally close down Ghost River for the night.

"Well…have a good night."

"Do you want to come in?

Nicole looked around where they stood. She knew she had followed Waverly to the outskirts of downtown, but her vision narrowed to following the girl with the long, brown hair, who would surely be missing her purse upon her return home…

A few yards from the sidewalk, down an unkempt gravely path stood a dilapidated shack--the roughest-looking place Nicole had seen in Ghost River --with neon signs blinking sporadically in the cloudy windows. Above the doorway hung a lighted box sign that read "Al's" in chipped red lettering, with a black "E" and "r" hastily shoved in--an addition clearly made in an attempt to save money. An indication of a changing of the guard.

_Earl's Global Grub Haus._

"Where are we?"

"It's where Wynonna likes to go when she's…in a mood," said Waverly resignedly. "At least when she doesn't feel like skipping town."

_Oh._

_She's trying to find her sister._

_And you just followed her like a sad, desperate puppy._

"Okay. Well, then I'll just…" Nicole took a few steps back.

"Why don't you join us?" Waverly's question stopped Nicole in her tracks.

Something was different about this Waverly that Nicole followed from the dance studio. She looked like the bubbly, friendly girl she met and nearly shared breakfast with that morning, but now suddenly looked small and nervous, shadows flashing behind her eyes.

It was less enthusiastic than her invitation for breakfast that morning; something in her voice indicated to Nicole that she just didn't want to do this alone. That if it was just Waverly in there, whatever conversation would happen would be lost to the universe, falling on the deaf ears of harried waiters and half-drunken. And she was terrified of that.

It was less of an invitation; more of a plea.

Nicole swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. "You sure she's here?"

"I'm pretty sure." Without waiting for a reply, Waverly turned up the path.

Nicole followed her.

Earl's looked more like a diner than Doc's. Old license plates hung by rusty nails on the walls. Every surfaced was covered with cracked linoleum or vinyl or chrome. A jukebox stood in the far corner. Though a "No Smoking" sign hung prominently in the front entrance, stale cigarette smoke clung to every surface and permeated the air. Waverly greeted the cook with a halfhearted raise of her hand, who waved back with their greasy spatula.

"Your sister's already in here. Usual spot."

Waverly hurried ahead, understanding the cook's direction. Nicole followed close behind.

They found Wynonna in the back corner of the diner, right next to the juke box.

She started at the table, her hands clutched around a glass of amber liquid.

"Hey, sis." Waverly's voice barely carried above the soft country music wafting out of the jukebox on the far side of the diner.

Wynonna barely lifted her head up too look at them, but Nicole could see that her eyes were puffy, and rimmed with dark circles.

_She looked…sad. Defeated._

She looked as if she was about to say something in response, but a waiter suddenly appeared with a tray laden with food. Nicole and Waverly wordlessly shuffled to the side as the waiter started sliding plates onto the table. Chow mein, garlic fries, tacos, spaghetti and meatballs. They slid them onto the table without a word and scurried away.

"Were you expecting more people?" Waverly's bitter remark didn't deter Wynonna from immediately shoveling food into her mouth.

"All that small town bureaucracy makes me hungry," she grumbled between bites of chow mein. "Ugh. Stupid Earl forgot the plum sauce. Again." She looked up.

"What do you want, Waverly?"

Waverly shrunk, her hands clasped. "I wanted to talk to you."

Wynonna scoffed. "You and everyone else. Besides, we talked this morning, didn't we?"

“Come on, you know this is a big deal and you’re just not processing it.”

“We’re not talking about this here, Waverly.” She narrowed her eyes at Nicole. "And, for the record, I'm not interested in putting on a show to show your new friend how _happy_ and _perfect_ Ghost River is." Wynonna's voice hitched, and she took a long sip from her glass, draining it.

Nicole raised her hands in defense. "I'm just here to grab some food. I'll leave the two of you alone." Without waiting for a response, Nicole turned and walked back toward the counter, her stomach immediately plummeting as she retreated toward the counter. She could feel the desperate and disappointed look Waverly was undoubtedly casting her way.

But she'd made her choice.

Her cowardly choice.

The moment things felt confrontational, she just ran away.

It was the easiest thing to do.

She was awfully good at that.

She found an empty stool at the counter and she plucked a frayed menu from the condiment holder. Someone slid a glass of water toward her.

She wasn't particularly hungry, and she could’ve just left. Why didn’t she just leave…

Nicole perused the dozen laminated pages of the menu featuring every major cuisine--tikka masala, eggplant parmesan, matzo ball soup, fried rice, SPAM musubi, burgers, corned beef and cabbage, stroganoff, pad thai…

The soft country song transitioned into synth and drums and electric guitars. Some love song from the 80s. She tried to focus on the driving pulses of the music instead of accidentally overhearing the conversation heating up behind her.

The haggard waiter holding a notepad leaned against the counter in front of Nicole. "Decide on something yet?"

"Yeah. I'll just get a…side of dumplings." She slid her menu away.

Silence--save for a few muddled conversations around the diner and the music from the jukebox--fell over them. Nicole absentmindedly sipped at her water.

"You doin' alright, baby girl?"

"Don't change the subject, Wynonna."

"How's Jeremy? Things going alright for him at the--"

"Yeah." Waverly's response cut through Wynonna's with a sharpness that was new to Nicole. "Everything's great."

The waiter called in Nicole's order.

"I'm glad you came back."

"I'm not."

"Not even to see your baby sister?"

"Stop, Waverly."

Wynonna's voice, still tense and brazen, was lower, more controlled, though her words were started to slur more, the longer they soaked in whiskey.

"How long are you going to stay this time, Wynonna?"

"I didn't say anything about staying."

"Why did you come back if you're not staying?"

"Got the summons from the town council. Wanted to see that land go for myself."

"But it didn't. You just had to get into it with Gus and now you have to stay to watch it play out."

Two plates plopped down in front of Nicole, aromas of garlic and lemongrass and steamed dough pulling her away from the conversation, just long enough to lose track of Wynonna and Waverly's argument. Nicole absentmindedly stabbed at a dumpling and shoved it into her mouth, and for a moment, was distracted by how good it was. It was right amount of greasy and salty and garlicy and vinegary with a touch of chili.

It was as good as the stuff in Chinatown.

A silence settled between them as they all tucked in to their food. Nicole kept her gaze to her plate, not even daring to let her eyes travel beyond her section of counter.

"I bet she did that on purpose." Wynonna piped up.

"Why do you care?"

"Damn it, Waverly!" Wynonna slammed her hand down on the table, making Nicole jump. "I'm not stepping foot back on that piece of land. It deserves to be burned to the ground. The whole place. Turned into condos. Or a graveyard. And I can't believe Gus would just go behind my back and _buy it so I have to keep looking at that damn house._" Wynonna exhaled. "Actually, I can believe it."

"Teeeeechnically she didn't go behind--"

Nicole felt the heat from the glare Wynonna was surely shooting at Waverly.

"And _now_ I have to wait another two weeks before I can see that damn house go because Gus couldn't keep her mouth shut."

"I don't think she's gonna budge, Wynonna," said Waverly, her voice suddenly small.

Plates screeched across the table top. "I need some air. Lost my appetite. Tell Earl I owe him one." Wynonna slid out of the booth. "See ya later, sis."

Her exit was punctuated once again by a slamming door.

The jukebox switched to a cover of something from the seventies, a female voice mixing with an upbeat acoustic guitar.

Out of her peripheral vision, someone set a bag on the counter next to her.

Nicole glanced sideways, finding Waverly with her elbows propped on the counter, her chin propped in her hands. 

Waverly's presence pulled at her like a magnet.

Like a black hole.

One that some hidden part of her wanted to give herself over to.

But Nicole wouldn't let herself look at her.

_Not this. Not now._

_Waverly doesn't need you to barge into the deep, messy history of her and her family, anyway._

_You're here to get food. That's it. And she also just happens to be here._

_But…She sat next to you._

_This place is small._

_This place is nearly empty._

"Does your sister slam the door of every room she walks out of?"

She heard Waverly give a harsh exhale--a laugh, maybe? She set down one of her arms, leaving her head still propped. "She likes to get the last word in."

"You're sister's kind of…intense."

"How much did you hear?"

"Of what?"

Nicole felt Waverly stare at her. Nicole grimaced.

"Fine. Guilty. Heard…most of it." She

"You would've found out sooner or later," said Waverly. Nicole heard the shake in her voice she tried to steady. "It's all we ever talk about anymore. She's just running been out the clock until that land gets turned over to the town."

"What's so important about it? The whole town seemed invested in it."

Waverly sighed. "It's my family's land. Wynonna and I were born there. So was our dad. And his family. Our family has lived on that land, in that house, for almost three hundred years."

"Wow."

Waverly nodded wordlessly in agreement.

"Why does your sister want to get rid of it?"

"It's…complicated."

"But…Don't you want it?" The question came out before Nicole could stop it, and she finally allowed herself to look at Waverly. Waverly’s eyes were just as red and puffy as her sister’s. Light streaks of mascara dotted her cheeks.

Waverly shook her head dismissively. "No…It's probably better this way. Letting go of it."

Nicole heard every bit of dishonesty in Waverly's answer. Her answer was too casual, her voice a little too high.

This would be a conversation had on the subway, and Nicole would've gotten every bit of the backstory, start to finish, before she got off at her stop. And she would never see the storyteller again.

But this was not Chicago.

Nicole sensed decades--possibly centuries--of history lived in the answer, a feeling she usually got from _nonnas_ in small Tuscan villages. But now was not the time to extract that story. She turned away from Waverly. "I understand." She sighed. "And…I'm sorry. I had no right to ask."

“It’s okay. And thanks for the apology. Most people here think they have the right to every little bit of information about everyone. Especially when it has to do with the rest of the town.”

Metallic scrapes of a spatula on a grill top. The synth music continued, but it sounded like something from the current decade, a lilted female voice wrapping itself around the two of them. Nicole looked around the diner--in every direction except the one that held Waverly--and she landed on a flier advertising the harvest festival.

Nicole swiveled in her seat and leaned against the counter. "Do people really take this harvest festival that seriously?"

Even though she still faced the counter, Waverly’s posture relaxed, grateful for a shift in subject.

"Family rivalries have started because of it." Nicole listened for any sort of sense of sarcasm in Waverly's voice, but detected none. Nicole waited for a smile to break out, to lessen the tension, to indicate that, really, it was a stupid ritual that the elders of the town perpetuated just because 'that's the way things have always been'.

But none came.

_God, they _do_ all take this festival seriously._

"Has it ever been cancelled?"

Waverly shook her head again. "Not since I've been alive. Happens every year, no matter what. Rain. Sun. Snow. Wind. Hay cart breaks down. Bad cider. The year the pumpkins all rotted the night before. Nothing."

Nicole blinked. "Wow."

Waverly modded. "I guess people like the tradition. The routine. Some people prepare all year for the festival. I guess it gives them a purpose. Some people need that, I guess." She glances at Nicole. 

"Do you ever do anything? I can't imagine the _whole_ town actually putting this on."

"I help Shorty give tours around town. People eat it up."

Something tugged at Nicole's lips, seeing Waverly relax, like the girl she saw at Doc's this morning. "What's the fact that people always get tripped up on?"

Waverly blew out an exhale, ruffling the hairs framing her forehead, contemplating. She swiveled on her stool toward Nicole.

"Earl's also houses the oldest functioning jukebox in the state."

"Really?" 

Waverly nodded enthusiastically. "The last owners made it part of the building itself. It's even part of the deed. If this place gets a new owner, they have to keep the jukebox."

Nicole felt her eyebrows raise. "What if the jukebox breaks down?"

Waverly pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. "I don't know. Keep it erected as a memorial to times gone by?" Something resembling a smile flashed across her face.

Nicole propped her elbow on the counter, relaxing into the conversation. "What else do you know about this place?"

Waverly looked around the room thoughtfully, calculating. "Oh!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands with excitement. "There was a speakeasy in the basement here during prohibition, back when it was still called Al's. And it wasn't even raided. Not even once. Like, people thought it was more trouble calling in the county sheriff than just let people break the law. It's still one of the only places in town where you can get alcohol."

Waverly nodded at something, and Nicole looked in the direction she nodded. Behind the counter was a line of liquor bottles. A waiter walked by and replaced a bottle of whiskey. The bottle that had been emptied by Wynonna…

The connection slowly wrapped itself around Waverly, diminishing her smile, pulling her shoulders down again. She absentmindedly reached for a napkin hanging out of the metal dispenser in front of her, picking at the corner.

Nicole cursed herself for trying to make light conversation. Only a momentary distraction. Everything else--the things that can't be ignored--all comes back sooner or later.

_You give yourself the moment, means you could lose it at any moment. That's the price of living._

"Are you going to be okay?"

Waverly pursed her lips, considering her response. "Yeah. I'll be fine." She offered Nicole a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. The same one she offered Nicole at the meeting. 

Before Nicole had an opportunity to press any further, a waiter came by to refill their water glasses. Waverly asked to pay for her food. The waiter ripped a piece of paper off their notepad and set on the counter in front of Waverly. 

In her mind, Nicole imagined this would be the moment she reaches for the check, too, when hands meet and eyes meet and everything slows down.

Then again…why did her fingers suddenly feel all warm, why did her heart rate spike and why was her stomach flipping over and over and over…

And then she blinked.

And Waverly was looking back at her.

Nicole blinked again. And she look down at her hand.

Sitting on top of Waverly's.

Hands on top of hands, frozen. 

Nicole's stomach flipped when she looked up and Waverly was looking back.

Again.

Surprised.

And not.

Curious.

And not.

Nicole quickly retracted her hand, her fingers tingling. She gazed down at her hands, now clutched tightly in her lap. "Sorry," she mumbled. "You should…go find your sister."

Out of the corner of her eye, Waverly grabbed the check again. She put it back on the counter, along with some money. 

Nicole's cheeks burned, and she barely heard Waverly over the blood rushing in her ears.

"Hey, Nicole?" She gathered up her coat and slid off the stool. "I'll be at Doc's tomorrow again if…"

She paused, and the rest of the world stopped again. But something else hung in the silence between them.

Not surprise. Not gratitude.

_Was it hope?_

_Longing?_

_Or just cordiality?_

The longer the silence, the more Nicole's chest tightened, the shallower her breath felt.

_What was she waiting for?_

_What are _you_ waiting for?_

_Whatever it is…you can say yes._

_Would you say yes?_

"Nevermind," Waverly's words shattered the moment, deflating the feeling in Nicole's chest. "Forget it. I'm sure you have other things you have to do. I'll see you around, then?"

Nicole didn't move until she heard Waverly leave the diner.

For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Nicole was left in the dust of the two Earp sisters.

"Yeah. See you around."

She rubbed her hand, feeling the electricity finally dull.. She crossed her arms on the counter and put her head down on top of them.

Knowing full damn well that the feeling in her stomach, her hands, her chest was terrifying. It only made her stomach curdle more.

Because feeling…whatever this was…for the neighborhood sweetheart was definitely _not_ laying low.

Not when she also was on the verge of being too nosy and too intrusive on a subject she had no business knowing about, that stretched farther back into a past older than she was…

Or maybe it was nothing at all.

Just the static of the vinyl seats. Too much grease in the food.

She flagged down a waiter and settled the bill. She hummed contentedly as she read over the scribbly handwriting.

Exactly what food at a small town dive should be.

Cheap. Good. Homemade.

Nicole slid her check and a few dollars next to Waverly's. Nicole lingered on the matching pieces of paper too long, or just long enough, to see something other than chicken-scratched orders was written on the wrinkled paper.

Nicole picked it up.

Ten digits, scrawled diagonally along the top of the check.

In a script different than the waiter's.

Neat. Slanted.

Nicole actually felt her heart stop.

_Don't take it._

_Maybe it's for the waiter._

_Why did she leave it where you could see it?_

_She at least thought about it._

Nicole folded the check and slipped it into her pocket anyway.

Outside the restaurant, a woman with a wide-brimmed hat stood against the streetlight, playing a cello, pulling soft, low notes out of the instrument like taffy. Nicole reached into her wallet and dropped a few dollars into the open cello case. The woman nodded and continued to saw her bow across the strings. The music followed Nicole all the way back to Mercedes's studio.

It had rained while she was in the restaurant, enough to fill Nicole's nostrils with the petrichor fragrance that possibly could have given off some semblance of home. 

But it couldn't.

Not in this town of two diners and a small grocery store.

A council who abided by a town charter--_who the hell has a town charter anymore_\--with the severity of some religious extremists.

This town had a history.

Its people had a history. A common history. That they either celebrated at every moment or chose to burn and bury at the earliest given moment.

Only the porch lights illuminated the otherwise dark antique shop. Nicole crept up the front stairs, recoiling when the top stair gave a loud groan. She continued across the porch, keeping her steps light. She slowly slid her key into the deadbolt and flinched when it clicked abnormally loud. She slowly swung the door open and stepped inside.

"That you, Haught?"

Nicole relaxed, even though she still felt like she was caught sneaking into her parents' house at three am. "Yes, Mr. Nedley, it's just me. No need to bust out the jiu-jitsu moves on me."

A light trickled into the front hallway, from the corner of the house Nicole rarely passed, where she assumed her curmudgeonly landlord spent his off time, the secret he still needed to keep.

He appeared in the doorway of the back room, no longer in his jacket, his denim shirt undone, revealing a white undershirt. On his feet were a pair of leather house shoes.

"Hi. I didn't wake you or scare you, did I?"

"No, I was just about to put some water on to boil. I like to unwind from the pandemonium of town meetings with a cup of tea. Care to join?"

Nedley beckoned to her. Nicole navigated her way through the labyrinth of the darkened store. A small kitchen was tucked away next to the office. Nedley set a kettle on a small gas stove and lit the burner underneath the kettle.

"Have a seat."

Nicole sat down at the green vinyl-topped table. Nedley rummaged around in a cupboard above the stove, producing two mugs. He set them on the table.

Nicole eyed the mug set on the table before her. The lumpy side picked up the light in odd spots, and the paint job was spotty. The word "dad" was painted in wobbly script on one side.

"You have kids?"

"A daughter." Nedley grunted, placing a metal tin on the table. "She's grown and left to change the finance world. Or so she tells me."

"Do you see her often?"

Nedley shook his head nonchalantly. "Maybe once a year. If she feels like it."

Steam whistled from the kettle, inserting itself into their conversation

"Everything alright with your room?"

"Mm-hm."

Nedley nodded. "Good." He poured hot water for Nicole, then himself. He opened the tin and took out two tea bags and dunked them into his hot water. Nicole plucked one out as well and sank it into her mug.

"How long have you been on the council?"

"About ten years or so. Start to lose track after the first seven."

"Were you always interested in politics?"

Nedley shrugged. "Spot opened up. Ran a campaign. Been on ever since."

"How many times have you run?"

"Just the one time. 's all you need. Once you're elected, you're in for life. You either quit or die."

"Kind of like a judge, then?"

"Or the Pope," Nedley offered. "'cept there's no smoke when the election results come in."

Did…did he just make a joke? Nicole was caught so off-guard, her mind stopped and she barely heard this next question.

"So, scared of this town yet?" Nedley took a long sip from his mug.

Nicole blinked, shaking off his earlier remark. "Should I be?"

"If you hadn't noticed, people like things to be run a certain way. It's a bit of shock for outsiders to see what happens when we roll up the sidewalks."

Outsider. The word has been used to describe Nicole more than once. But, for some reason, 

You're still an outsider. You don't belong here. You don't care about the things we care about.

"That meeting was out of the ordinary for you, too, huh?"

"Usually it's about who parked their car for too long outside the post office or what color the awning of the old bank building should be. You got the liquor license and the Earp estate tonight."

"Right." Nicole sipped at her tea, the hot liquid bringing her neither warmth or comfort. "I hope it all works out."

"I know you're not talking about that liquor license." Nedley brought his mug to his lips again. "That's a family that's had more trouble than most."

"So I've heard."

Nicole saw something flicker across Nedley's face, as quick as a blink, possibly just masked by the steam rolling off the mugs in front of them. Something that suggested he wanted to talk about it further, but decided against going into detail with this outsider.

But something, nonetheless, that gave away what he wanted to say.

I hope it works out for them, too.

The overhead light, yellowed in the dated fixture mounted on the ceiling, flickered at odd intervals.

The herd of grandfather clocks in the other room chimed double-digits.

"Mr. Nedley, if you don't mind, I think I'll just take this up to my room. I promise to bring it back down and wash it." 

Nedley shrugged. "Fine by me if it never makes it downstairs ever again. Never liked that mug much anyways." He drained his mug and set it down. He pushed himself away from the table.

"Have a good rest of your evening." He shuffled out of the kitchen, back toward his office. She heard shuffling and some softs thumps from the back office. Then, silence. 

Nicole picked up her companion's mug and placed it, along with her own, in the ceramic utility sink mounted in the corner. She rinsed them out and set them on the wood drying rack next to the sink.

Really, it wasn't her job to clean up after her landlord--nor, did he make any indication that it was.

Leave a place better than when you arrived.

Usually this applied to campsites, historical monuments, sacred landmarks…Ingrained into her psyche by guides and translators.

_Nobody should ever be able to tell that you were here._

_But…if you made a place better, wouldn't that mean that someone knew that someone else came through? Is a lack of a mark--or the appearance of a lack of a mark--a mark in and of itself?_

_You washed a damn mug, Nicole. You didn't scrub racist graffiti off a thousand-year-old religious site._

Though it never crosses her mind to radically change a place she visits--that idea often erased hundred, if not thousands, of years of tradition. And that was more destructive than anything.

But it could be small things. Picking up trash on a beach. Giving a few Euros to a street performer in la plaza de la Virgen.

How was she going to leave this place better?

Was it even possible?

The more she learned about this town, the more people she met, the weirder it all felt.

Everybody had some sort of connection to someone else…

Except for her.

In the first article that got her a cover story was where she explored the idea of when people called a place "home". Any place. Any city. Any dwelling.

What's the line between a visitor and an inhabitant?

History.

Good and bad.

In that case, she lived everywhere. Little pieces of her lived in every corner of the world.

But what if home becomes too tainted, too corrupt, that the thought of calling it home, having to go back there is too painful or traumatic.

Something she wasn't even close to having here. Not by decades. Maybe even centuries.

In the week she'd been here, it became painfully clear that nobody over the age of sixty or had family ties to the land hundreds of years deep actually lived here.

Everyone else was a visitor.

Nicole scrubbed a hand over her face. She was surprised to find her hand damp when she pulled it away.

She hadn't cried since she left. Only felt numb and anxious.

Never sad.

Never heartbroken.

Suddenly overwhelmed with both, she climbed up the stairs to her loft, to the place she called her home only in the physical sense of the word.

She stripped off her clothes and tossed them--along with the receipt of a hasty meal, and, perhaps, the invitation of another meeting--onto one of the chairs in the kitchen nook. She donned an old raglan shirt from university and some sweatpants. She brushed her teeth--the most normal thing she could get herself to do--and crawled into bed.

Sleep came easily, despite her not feeling tired.

But it's the only thing she could do. The least she could do to preserve this town, not make her mark. She, the visitor, the one without the history.

She, the one who was alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, friends.
> 
> Thanks for being patient with this one.
> 
> This will be the last update for the AU for a while, because life and school and other writing projects I want to work on. But fear not, this story is far from over, and I can't wait to keep telling it.
> 
> Comments and Kudos are never required, but always loved and appreciated.
> 
> Thanks, fam <3
> 
> Come yell at me on Twitter: @TeachEarp_


End file.
